


Class Act

by goodboylupin (somebetterwords)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drinking, Fluff, Hogwarts, Hogwarts Seventh Year, Hopeful Ending, Humor, Implied/Referenced Blow Jobs, Jealous Sirius Black, M/M, Oblivious Remus Lupin, Pining Sirius Black, RSCandyHearts, Roommates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-12 22:02:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29766267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somebetterwords/pseuds/goodboylupin
Summary: Sirius, actingentirelyout of nobility, makes sure Remus won't do something he regrets with someone he regrets.
Relationships: Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Comments: 4
Kudos: 73
Collections: The Candy Hearts Challenge





	Class Act

**Author's Note:**

> My third fic for my third prompt from my (@goodboylupin’s) #RSCandyHearts - CLASS ACT. I’m using this space to remind y’all that the masterlist goes up tomorrow, so please message me or drop me an ask if you need an extension!
> 
> Thank you @kattlupin and @bethansfandoms for the beta

“Sirius, hey, _Sirius!_ ” Peter whined in his ear. “Are you even listening to me?”

“No,” Sirius answered frankly, not looking away from the pair (not a couple, a _pair_ ) that held his attention. He was busy. “I’m busy.”

“Busy staring at Remus?”

At that, Sirius did turn away to glare at Wormtail. “I’m not _staring_. I’m looking out for him! Moony’s drunk and I’m making sure that Ravenclaw knobhead doesn’t take advantage. Someone has to.”

“Right,” Peter scoffed. “That’s what you’re doing. You’re a real class act, Padfoot.”

“And what the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Sirius demanded, standing to full height.

Peter stared at him for a long moment before his shoulders sagged and he took a sip of his drink. “Nothing, Pads,” Peter said as he turned to walk away. “You keep on keeping on.”

Sirius smirked in victory as the shorter boy walked away. For all his muttered commentary and pointed jokes, he was always too much a coward to really speak his mind, their Pete.

Sirius turned his attention back to Remus and the smirk fell off his face. A moment ago, Remus had been leaning against the wall by the staircase to the boy’s dorms, hands folded behind him and nodding politely at the obnoxious little windbag who was always bothering him, more commonly known as Cicero Johnson-Blake, who had him boxed in with an arm propped against the wall and the other gesticulating whatever dumb story he was telling in an attempt to impress Moony.

Now, though. Now they were walking up the stairs, hand in hand, and that was so not on.

“MOONY!” Sirius shouted in alarm. He shoved at any partygoer who dared to stand in his way as he raced after them.

“Oh, hi, Padfoot!” Remus turned around and grinned sunnily. Without a second thought, he threw his arms around Sirius’s neck in a tight embrace, always so much easier with his affections when he had a drink in him.

And that was the problem, of course. Sirius knew without an atom of doubt in his mind that Remus would _never_ let Cicero Johnson-Blake take him by the hand if he were sober. He’d still be perfectly polite and somehow- _better_ -than-perfectly kind, but there would be no mistaking his conversation as flirtatious. Moony could have anyone he wanted, but he specifically wanted _no one_ because of the whole furry little problem. (And if he did decide to want someone, Sirius knew it wouldn’t be Johnson-Blake. He saw the actors Remus liked best, the models that would have Remus linger over a page in a magazine. Cicero Johnson-Blake was too blond, too pale, too preppy, and too short to be Remus’s type.)

“Hey, Moony,” Sirius murmured, instinctually tucking Remus into his side with an arm wrapped around the waist. “What’s up?”

“Cicero was gonna take me _upstairs_ ,” Remus told him, pulling back just enough so Sirius could see his eyebrows waggling. Coming closer once again, Remus whispered in his ear, just a smidge too loud, “I think he wants me to suck his dick!”

At once, Sirius felt a lump in his throat and a thickening in his trousers. “Well, I’m no prefect, but I don’t think it’s very appropriate for a Ravenclaw to be going up to the Gryffindor dorms.”

“I _am_ a prefect,” Johnson-Blake interrupted rather rudely. “And I think it would be fine.”

“Oi, how about you mind your own business instead of eavesdropping on ours, Johnson-Blake! I’m trying to have a conversation with my friend here.”

Johnson-Blake gaped at them (rather prissily, Sirius would say. Another reason he was no good for Remus). “You’re having a conversation about _me_ while I’m standing not two feet away from you!”

“You’re right,” Sirius agreed. “Let me make this a more respectful distance.”

With that, he quickly herded Remus the rest of the way up the stairs and slammed the dorm room door shut behind them.

“Padfoot!” Remus chided. “That wasn’t very nice! I was supposed to suck that guy’s dick…”

“ _Remus_ ,” Sirius breathed. He grasped both of his shoulders, delicate as the wings of a bird, and squeezed. “You weren’t _supposed_ to do anything. You never have to do anything you don’t want to do, sexually or otherwise. Certainly not as long as I’m around.”

“Oh,” Remus blinked owlishly. “Thank you, but I very much wanted to suck his dick.”

“Oh.” Sirius’s arms fell limply to his sides. “I didn’t think you would really like him like that.”

Remus snorted. “ _Cicero Johnson-Blake_? I don’t like him like that. I barely even like him in the regular sense of the word. But, I mean, we’re in seventh year, yeah? And we’re going to have to enter the real world very soon where it’ll be a lot more work to meet anyone. And I know I’ve always denied myself romance because I don’t want to subject anyone to dealing with the whole—” Remus made a harsh swatting motion, “Werewolf thing. But I still can’t stop myself wanting… intimacy, at least. I guess I’ve finally come to accept that one without the other is probably the best I’ll ever be able to do, so — so why _not_ just do it with Cicero Johnson-Blake?”

“Because, Remus,” Sirius answered very seriously, cradling his face in his hands. “You _can_ have romance. You are kind and funny and clever and brave and _good_. And if only you were willing, you could be with someone who loves you, and they wouldn’t give a damn about the werewolf thing.”

“That’s a very nice sentiment, Padfoot,” Remus said, reaching up to press his fingers to the inside of Sirius’s wrist. His warm, callused thumb rubbed soothingly over the tender skin there as if _Sirius_ was the one in need of comfort. “You think much higher of me than I could ever dream to rise.”

“I don’t,” Sirius denied. “You think much lower of yourself than you could ever fall.”

Remus smiled sadly. “Be that as it may, I could do a lot worse than getting some experience out of a friendly acquaintance.”

Remus pulled away and made for the door, as if he was about to go fetch Johnson-Blake. The action spurred terrible images in Sirius’s mind: images of Remus bearing his skin to thoughtless hands that would graze over silvery scars without any regard for how they got there or how they made Remus feel, images of rough kisses too fast to savour, images of selfish thrusting and boisterous retellings of the encounter that would leave his Moony flushed angry red with humiliation instead of the satisfied pink he could get from a lover who _cared_.

Sirius violently rejected those images, words came rushing out of his mouth before his head could form them, “You could do a lot better too. You could get some experience with a true friend!”

Remus turned back around, wide-eyed and hopeful. “Are you offering?”

Sirius felt strangely weak in the knees. He sank down to sit on the trunk at the foot of his bed. “I am, yes.”

“Okay!” Remus agreed immediately. He locked their door and came back, eagerly sinking to his knees before Sirius, and goodness, wasn’t that a memory to save for a rainy day.

Annoyingly, a voice in his head that sounded like the other half of the Marauders shrieking in harmony implored him to reconsider, so as Remus tugged at the end of his belt, Sirius grabbed his hand to stop him. “Wait,” he ground out.

Crestfallen, Remus scuttled back. “I knew it,” he mumbled to himself, then stared down at his own legs. “I — this is _pity sex!_ I knew you wouldn’t actually be able to _perform_ under these circum _—_ ”

It bruised his pride quite terribly that Remus thought he, a healthy and sexually talented young man, would not be able to rise to the occasion, and the hurt overwhelmed the reasonable part of him. “No, I want,” Sirius insisted. “And I definitely will not have any trouble _performing_! But, um…” The wheels of his mind turned at rapid-fire pace to come up with a reason he stopped Remus from undressing him. “But you’re drunk!” He finally decided.

“I’m not _drunk_ ,” Remus said, nose scrunching up rather adorably. “I’m just a little tipsy.” He paused, considering. “And a little stoned.”

“Right, so we should get you a sobering potion. I wouldn’t want you to do anything you regret.”

“Right! You have some in your trunk, don’t you?”

“I do have some in my trunk.”

Remus stared at him expectantly for a beat, then tapped the wood of the trunk he was sat upon.

“Fuck, right.” Sirius shifted backwards until he was lying down on his bed, allowing Remus to open the trunk.

“I think maybe you ought to have some too,” Remus chuckled. He grabbed two vials and joined Sirius on the bed, handing one over.

Sirius let out a perfunctory laugh and clinked their vials together, “ _lechyd Dda!_ ”

“Cheers,” Remus replied.

They groaned in unison as the potion took hold, that strange feeling it imparted of suction cups to the brain making Remus droop to lie down beside him.

“So,” Remus said after a minute to recover. “I’m stone cold sober now.”

“Aye, as am I.”

“And I still want to.”

Sirius turned to look at him with every intention of searching his gaze for any doubt but instead got distracted by his lips.

Remus had very pretty lips.

“Me too.”

Remus beamed, dipping forward to press a soft kiss to Sirius’s cheek. “You’re such a good friend, Padfoot,” he whispered.

Then he crawled between Sirius’s legs and scooted down until he was eye level with Sirius’s crotch.

 _Yeah_ , Sirius agreed, propping himself up on one elbow so he could watch Moony work. The fingers of his other hand found themselves running through Remus’s soft, honey tresses. _I’m a real class act._

**Author's Note:**

> Also available on my [Tumblr.](https://goodboylupin.tumblr.com/post/644406447360393216/my-third-fic-for-my-third-prompt-from-my)


End file.
